Romantic Drabbles
by AuteurDeLaPaix
Summary: Just a few drabbles I've done. Two are ShinyaxAkane whereas the last one is of GinozaxAkane.
1. Letters

She would write letters. The letters simple. The letters telling about her day. The letters telling him things that she was sure he would have found interesting. In her head: she would picture his smile or perhaps his firm look of annoyance as she did something reckless. He could almost hear his voice scolding her. She could almost feel the warmth of his hand patting her head as he praised her affectionately. She could almost smell his scent and hear him reply. She could feel all of these things as she wrote these letters and poured her heart out to him. He would never see the letters. No one would. Perhaps if he returned one day: she would give him the letters and he would read them and decide to stay with her. She would cry, she was sure of it. She wanted him to know how much he mattered even when gone. She wanted him to know he had someone who cared, even after all he'd done. So she wrote, she wrote those letters because she felt it was all she could. She was also sure that if the letters were an actual conversation between she and him: he would care. He had always cared in his own roundabout way. She could only smile to herself as she thought that.

Salty tears warping the ink of her letter.


	2. Bench

He would talk about whatever. She didn't care. She just loved hearing him talk.

They sat on the bench; he, holding a cigarette; she, eagerly leaning towards him.

He spoke passionately about whatever it was that caught his interest or that she prompted. She would listen, eager to hear him speak.

He would pat her head, ruffle her hair, and put out his cigarette. He would smile at her, saying a good-bye and until tomorrow.

She would nod and smile, always eager to sit and listen to him and always looking forward to the next day when they could meet again after work.

They always sat at the same bench.

But one day he stopped coming to the bench. One day he stopped talking. One day she couldn't hear his voice. One day he was simply gone. Then that one day became many days.

And she knew, as she sat on their little bench alone: that it would be a while before they spoke again. Or perhaps, never again at all.

As she sat on that bench, a breeze picked through. She could have sworn she smelled his cologne and cigarettes on that breeze.

And it made her happy.


	3. One-Sided

It made her feel alright. Being there with him. He had been patient, yes, he had been very patient with her. Sometimes she would slip upon her words, bringing forth a man prior to the one she was currently attached to. He, though able to tell the memory ailed her, would hold her hand even more tightly in his. He, eyes fixated onto hers lovingly, would squeeze the poor woman's hand. She, in turn, would smile at him though he could easily discern the heavy guilt within her gaze. He didn't mind. He loved her. Being around her filled his heart with something bright, perhaps hope, even. Nobuchika could hardly recall a time he had been beyond upset with her. Well, perhaps once, and that was simply because she was thinking about him again.

There she had sat one day, mug in hand, staring out the window with that sort of longing she always seemed to possess. She sat loyally, as if waiting for a return that would never come. Or at least: it was very unlikely. But she had sat, smiling-smiling so delicately and so beautifully. And Nobuchika, unsure on how to comfort her, had stood within the door frame. He could only wonder what he did wrong. Why he wasn't as good as him-the one before-the one that seemed to have outdone him in everything. To think, even in hiding: he still held this poor girl's heart within his hand. He, oh he, had enraptured her.

Even as he held her within the cold nights of December, even as he warmed her hands, kissed her, caressed her, embraced her, and even as he was intimate with her-she would never be his. Never. Perhaps that was what hurt the most. She was beautiful, bright, and any man would have been quite fortunate to have her as a partner. She was intelligent. Her eyes flickered with a knowledge and wisdom uncharacteristic of her age. She had been there for him when no one else had. Nobuchika had tried to return the favor. Yet, as he gazed upon her: sitting so serenely by the window; he could hear her sigh quietly.

He held back a sigh himself. Seeing her in that chair, gazing out the window, and seeing the chair next to her; empty, he could only realize how lonely she truly was with him gone. She still hadn't noticed him standing within the confinements of the door frame. Nobuchika could only think that the day she finally took notice of him-that she finally stopped longing for a man who would never return-would be, well, never.

How could he accept that?


End file.
